The Perfect Son (third rambling)
by Aednat the Fourteenth
Summary: "How could such a righteous man have committed such an abject crime?" After starting to believe Milady's words about Thomas, Athos reflects on his happy years with his younger brother, and wonders what he could have missed or done wrong. But does it take a monster to act hideously? - Tag for season 2, episode 9, "The Accused." Warning: Mention of rape. Absolutely NOTHING graphic.


**As always, many MANY thanks to my beta Pika-la-Cynique, for her encyclopedic knowledge of the English language and her patience.**

xxxx

There were two waterways in La Fère: the River Oise and the Deuillet stream. The latter was no more than a brook, but the children loved to splash about in it, build dams with pebbles, and set traps in its deeper pools, hoping to catch crawfish. When they grew up, their fondness for the Deuillet tended to fade into a slightly derogatory disinterest and they moved on to the bigger Oise, where you could really fish, swim, and, if you were brave enough, dive under the complex grid of driftwood where one could easily get trapped, or into the dangerously twisted black maze of the underwater vegetation.

Thomas was the bravest.

He would take a deliberately shallow breath and dive, sliding across the weeds to disappear from the other children's gazes. Everybody would cheer and shout and then, after a minute or two, fall silent almost at once.

There was something practically spiritual in the air. No matter how many times the scene played out, you could always feel the group mind beginning to confront its own mortality as the boy didn't come up.

Always, at some point, Olivier's hands would start to unbutton his jacket of their own volition, as his knees bent and his bare feet dug into the ground so he could rush toward the river in a heartbeat, and leap into the water, ready to defeat the wood and the weeds to save his little brother.

And, every time, just when he was about to dash forward, Thomas would reappear in a burst of laughter, and everyone would laugh with him, forgetting the fear, throwing the introspection away, and forgiving him because he was so spirited and merry that you just had to love him and look up to him.

Even his big brother did.

Thomas was an inspiration.

Olivier had been neither spirited nor merry. He was kind and brave, but too stand-offish to inspire anyone who was not deliberately seeking a role model. He didn't mind. He liked calm, and quiet, and being alone.

He would walk the streets by himself, watch the commoners getting on with their daily lives and sometimes engage a genuinely interested conversation with them; or he would stroll through the forest to a clearing and sit there for hours, until some wild animal felt so safe it would come almost close enough to touch – but he would never disturb it. He was also fond of the family manor's library, where he would devour pages and pages of poetry, fables and even the occasional essay, until the room grew dark and his eyes sore.

His father would have been concerned about such an unconventional attitude for a Comte's heir but, luckily for Olivier, he also loved riding and swordsmanship, and didn't mind hunting and learning some notions of economics and military strategy.

"He is the perfect son," his mother said once, brushing his hair, and he smiled shyly while her friends laughed.

He might have been the perfect son. He was smart and sensible, but inventive, with a discreet yet sharp sense of humor. He was proud, although rarely arrogant, completely aware of his qualities but not afraid of showing humility when he recognized a wiser person. He learned patiently the privileges and duties that came with a title, and tried to grasp the reality of the world outside the La Fère's estate, both in dutiful anticipation of the day he would inherit the Comte's responsibilities and out of personal interest.

He might have been the perfect son, but Thomas was something more.

Thomas was bright. His beautiful spirits shone and warmed everyone lucky enough to stand beside him.

Thomas was the Sun. He was treated accordingly, and Olivier had never been jealous.

Thomas was the favorite because he deserved it.

And the De la Fère were blessed. That was undeniable to anyone who knew them even a little.

xxxx

 _"Do you still maintain that my brother tried to rape you?"_

xxxx

If Thomas had been a loveable child, he became an irresistible young man. Almost all the girls, and many older women, tried to get his attention.

It was all the more remarkable that he was far from being the most beautiful eligible in the neighborhood. He was handsome and wealthy, of course, but he was not the heir, and the vast majority of the fair ladies and buxom common lasses who sought his company had no hope of gaining much by doing so. Some of them didn't even seriously try to seduce him. They just seemed to enjoy his company. Being his friend was gratifying enough, if their charms failed to hit their mark. Not that he turned many of them down, that being said. Despite never acting openly vain, he liked being the center of attention. It was a flaw he was gracious enough to admit, blushing slightly, making himself all the more loveable by doing so.

He seldom felt the need to court the ladies himself, but, sometimes, took an interest in one of those who didn't appear to immediately fall for him. A lot of them were just playing hard to get, but there were some rare proud or virtuous maidens who sincerely seemed indifferent to his charms. He loved that. Said it humbled him. He still pursued his overtures, though, sometimes rather too insistently, in Olivier's opinion. But he often got what he wanted, in the end, and the ladies who gave it to him looked as contented as he was.

He was also something of a white knight.

He was full of principles and ready to fight for them. Never did he let a nobleman abuse his privileges, or a shopkeeper take advantage of a naïve customer. More than once, he vehemently confronted their father regarding his handling of their people (Olivier did, too, but in a more diplomatic, and probably more effective, way). He even occasionally reprimanded his lady friends in public when they indulged in repeating gossips in his presence. Still, his thirst for justice would sometimes take a nasty turn. One day, he almost beat to death a _chevalier_ who had knocked his daughter unconscious after finding out that she was meeting with him in secret. That was the only time Olivier ever saw their father get furious against his youngest son but, when it appeared that the violent man would not die, and since Thomas had done his best to make amends (he had personally delivered the deed for the small tract of land the Comte De la Fère had offered to the _chevalier_ in compensation, and apologized - clearly implying that, should there ever be a next time, he would use his sword instead of his fists; but apologized nonetheless), the whole matter was quickly forgotten.

The incident had made Thomas even more popular, if possible, among the ladies. Olivier was courting a maiden himself at the time, and they had laughed about the way her friends kept extolling the virtues of his younger brother. Still, in private, he had confronted Thomas:

"You could have killed him!"

Olivier had felt a bit hypocritical, because he too had gotten into trouble more than once trying to live up to his sense of justice. Less than two months before, he had humiliated a nobleman for having unexpectedly grabbed a very young tavern girl's bottom. She had frozen and let out a forced laugh, but had been visibly terrified and Olivier had felt compelled to step in. It had almost led to a duel. To Olivier's credit, he hadn't planned for the altercation to go that far, having supposed that the lout, maybe impressed by his noble presence and pointed rhetoric, would have simply admitted his wrongdoing and apologized.

Well, he was young.

Anyway, he wasn't sure he was the most legitimate person to scold Thomas, but someone had to, someone other than their father, whose sole argument, despite the humanist principles he claimed to espouse, had been that of the family's reputation; so Olivier had figured the task befell him, as Thomas' eldest and best friend, to knock some sense into the lad. He had carefully prepared his case, which was almost entirely based on the fact that, when facing his own adversary, _he_ hadn't gone bonkers – lucky for him, one of the tavern boor's mates had been able to calm his friend down before Olivier completely lost control of the situation, but Thomas didn't have to know that detail. Consequently, it was almost as frustrating as it was reassuring when his brother answered:

"I've been a fool."

 _'scuse me, what?_ Olivier's brain stammered but, already being who he was, he just glared.

"I've been so stupid," Thomas went on. "The situation was all my fault to begin with. I knew her father would be furious. I wasn't even that interested in her, or she in me, for that matter. She was just nice, and pretty, and we had fun but, when I learned that her old man was set against us, it made her even more attractive and I… She wanted to put an end to it, but I couldn't let her go! She had agreed to see me one last time. By the Deuillet, you know, where it bends East, after the ancient oak. Only kids go there. And not at such an hour. He must have seen her when she left the house… I don't know. But she was mine and he hurt her, brother! And I know I should have talked to him, tried to bring him to trial, or even challenged him to a duel, but I felt so guilty I had to let it out. Good God! What would she have done if I had killed the man? He's her only family! And what would _you_ have done if I'd been hanged for it? Father is right. I have a duty to our family. I'm so sorry, Olivier. I'm such a spoiled brat!"

That was all it took to turn an argument into an embrace.

"You're not a spoiled brat," Olivier said finally. "Well… maybe a bit," he added, and they both chuckled. "But it wasn't your fault. You should have remained in control – and I mean, of your lust and your temper both! but you were not the one who struck a defenseless woman, let alone one you were supposed to take care of. The man was a coward and he deserved to be punished."

"Not like that."

"No, not like that. I know you feel strongly, brother. And maybe that's what makes you such a good person, but your feelings will end up hurting _you_ if you don't learn to tame them."

"Not just me. Mother and father. And you."

Olivier felt a lump in his throat, but he forced himself to remain firm when he added:

"Just… promise me to try to think before you act. Okay?"

And Thomas did.

xxxx

How could such a righteous man have committed such an abject crime?

Their parents had been fair. They had given them everything. As haughty and full of themselves as they had sometimes behaved, they had taught both their sons to respect their fellow man and to live up to their position.

 _"Why would I lie about it?"_

 _"You lied about everything."_

 _You lied when we first met, you lied about who you were and where you came from. You lied about your hopes and dreams. You even lied about lying. You are the_ mise en abyme _of lying. The only time you didn't lie was when you said you loved me._

Was that love?

xxxx

When Thomas met Anne, he showed nothing but distant brotherly interest in her. They had very dissimilar temperaments, Anne being, rather like Olivier, composed and even shy until something really rattled her and then, again very much like her fiancé, there was this glint in her eye warning that this reserved demeanor was not to be mistaken for a lack of pride. It was quite unnerving for Thomas, who was used to have most people love him at first sight, and to show it. Anne's natural predisposition to suspicion was a challenge. But he was willing to meet it.

Besides, Olivier was absolutely infatuated with her, and, as much as Thomas liked teasing his usually so guarded older brother about his open displays of tenderness, or the silly smile that seemed now permanently imprinted on his face, he was willing to make every effort for his sake. Their father had died two months earlier, and their mother's fragile health suffered from the brutal loss. She kept repeating that she felt fine, but you could see her fade away each day that passed. Thomas had started to court Catherine, who was beautiful, smart and wealthy, and the two brothers' happy romantic lives were the only sparkles of joy in a rather grim year.

Time went by, and Anne and Thomas' wits and charm seemed to appease their differences. They liked teasing one another sometimes, but in a respectful way. It was not much, yet Olivier had seen so many families deploy a wealth of affectation in order to keep up appearances that he was grateful that the two most important people in his life didn't pretend to do more than tolerate each other.

He just wished his father had been there to see that.

xxxx

 _"Why not become the woman you believed me to be?"_

xxxx

Thomas was lying on his back in a pool of blood and, at first, all Olivier could think of was that he was glad their mother had died ten months ago. The stab had been accurate, there was no signs of a struggle and Anne was just standing there, her fingers stained red, a little shaken, maybe, but otherwise in perfect control of her emotions.

That was not the attitude of a young lady who'd just put a knife in a man's chest for the first time.

He barely acknowledged her further.

Thomas, the favorite, the righteous, the Sun, was lying on his back in a pool of blood.

Dead.

He didn't need to touch him to know. The look on Catherine's face, their servant's cries, the stillness of his dear little brother's body and his grayish complexion were proof enough.

He'd heard one day that you were supposed to go through different stages when you grieved, but he jumped directly to a depressed acceptance.

What was to deny in such a clear staging? What could he possibly grab at to bargain for? What was the point of getting angry?

His dear little brother was lying on his back in a pool of blood.

Anne was speaking. _She_ was denying everything. _She_ was bargaining. _She_ was angry.

She had no right.

He attempted to listen. He was the Comte. It was his duty to hear her pleas, but all she did was to defame.

She said that he'd tried to force her.

Thomas. The man who would put his feelings aside to ensure his brother's happiness. The good heart who was so afraid that his actions might hurt his family. The white knight who would beat up a chevalier for having laid a hand on a woman he was barely interested in.

He didn't even like Anne, for crying out loud! Why in God's name would he want to take her?

Olivier contemplated the evidences, heard the witnesses, and ordered his servants to take her to the tree.

Only then did she break.

xxxx

 _"You would never have married me if you'd known the truth about my past."_

xxxx

He wanted to deny her but, in truth, he would not even have met her if she had not pretended to be a noblewoman.

Sure, he had liked to talk to the commoners, at the time, but talking and actually mixing were different matters altogether..

He was the Comte De la Fère, and he had duties to perform. Responsibilities. To his people, his estate and his family. To his nice and sensitive Thomas who might have had his flaws, but attempting to force himself on his brother's wife? How could he believe that?

Of course, Thomas was proud and charming, he thought he owned the women he only briefly dallied with, and he would not take no for an answer, but men were supposed to behave like that! Olivier knew firsthand the amount of teasing those who didn't live to these standards were subject to, and himself had his title and his abilities with a sword to thank for having been spared excessive annoyance.

And Anne had lied before!

She had lied before.

Just as everyone did, from time to time, but he had not believed her this time

He had believed Thomas when he had sworn to regain control over his feelings. He had believed his father when he had claimed that all lives mattered the equally to him, and his mother when she had pretended that she was not ill.

He had not believed Anne when she'd said that Thomas had tried to rape her.

He had not believed her, and she had became a creature of her circumstances.

Like Thomas had. But, while Thomas was too weak and self-absorbed to step back from himself, _she_ had chosen.

She had regained control of her life.

She was a monster now, but it didn't take one to do harm.

A year before, she had told him that there could never be any peace for either of them until they were both dead.

But was peace what he needed?

They were both sick, empty and passionate lost souls, addicted to abusing each other, craving the delicious resultant mixture of completion and shame.

But, at least, they didn't pretend to be otherwise.

Maybe they would not destroy each other, after all.

Maybe they could be happy.

Maybe they would be happy despite destroying each other.

He had never been as happy as when they were together.

And, as much as he loved his brothers and his new life, he missed being happy.

 **FIN**

x

 **Well, for some reason, that was the most challenging thing I've ever written in English. I hope it was worth the reading :)**

 **Note:** **I'm aware that I was totally anachronistic mentioning the stages of grief. I tried not to make it sound too psychoanalytic BUT I'm writing about a show that made some ideas of the Age of the Enlightenment (and even a bit of socialism) start in the 1640s, so I felt entitled, for once, not to deprive myself of a good word over historical accuracy. Besides, I think it's entirely possible that someone had thought about this at the time. To "compensate," the details about the La Fère's waterways are true (It seems like a lovely little town, you might want to googleise it) ;)**


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